


Unexpected in Common Hours

by kieranwalker



Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: M/M, but only in the way that all boarding school is dead poets society, kind of a crossover with dead poets society?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 07:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kieranwalker/pseuds/kieranwalker
Summary: In which spoiled rich boys do what they have always done.





	Unexpected in Common Hours

Vincent let himself get convinced. Eugene’s coaxing grin and promise they wouldn’t get caught won him over, so here they were in Redford Hall on a Thursday night, sneaking flashlights out of the supply closet. Heart pumping a little faster than he’d like to admit, Vincent threw two into Eugene’s lap along with the spare key to Haverford Hall. The groundskeeper was an idiot; maybe it was a clever idea to keep an extra in the building across the quad, but not if it was common knowledge among the students and the patrol was entirely predictable. 

Bad behavior was rife among the all-boys population of Welton Academy. This was the last thing Vincent was clinging to to justify this to himself, pushing thoughts of his parents’ disapproval aside. Tonight, he decided, he was living.

Looking down at Eugene, he smiled quick before spinning Eugene’s wheelchair around and whisking them out of there before the warden came back on his rounds. When they got back to Vincent’s dorm—the closer of the two—they laughed breathlessly to each other. Step one down.

“The hardest part is over,” Eugene said. He smiled at Vincent. 

“Yeah,” Vincent gasped for breath. Between the fear of being caught and running for safety, he needed a minute to catch up with himself. Then, “Are you sure Miller won’t notice the key gone? He’d…you know he’d have our heads.”

Miller, the warden of Redford Hall, was a known tyrant at Welton. Freshman boys got stuck with his dormitory because all the upperclassman chose any hall but his and to date Miller had gotten 17 kids expelled. Frequently, he could be found around campus muttering under his breath about the “damn rich kids” and how they “need to be told no.” Not a favorite of the student body, but he still scared the shit out of seniors. 

Eugene sighed. “Vince, I’ve told you this a thousand times. It’ll be fine. Why would Miller go looking for the groundskeeper’s key in the middle of the night? Your precious academic reputation won’t be touched.” His voice turned sour.

Vincent felt a stab of regret. He knew Eugene didn’t have the grades he did nor the scholarship, and he’d recently been at the receiving end of a slew of suspensions. If he was cool with this, then Vincent needed to suck it up and stop worrying. He’d agreed to this, hadn’t he? “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s cool. No really,” he said, turning Eugene’s wheelchair to face him when he rolled his eyes. “I won’t say another word. Let’s go stick a major one to this place.”

Eugene smiled at that, warmth working its way up from his mouth to his eyes. When he looked at Vincent like that, Vincent got a warm in his stomach, like he was standing in front of the heater in December. Meeting Eugene’s smile, he gestured toward the door. “Time to dance?”

Eugene shook his head, wheeling for Vincent’s closet. “Not just yet. I have this coordinated; the best time to move is a quarter after every hour when the campus wardens have just patrolled past Haverford.

Vincent frowned and looked at his watch. “It’s 11:30 now, dammit.”

“Exactly.” Eugene was still rummaging through Vincent’s clothes, moving on to the dresser when he found nothing much hung in the closet. With a flourish, he pulled out a couple of polo shirts and khakis to match. “So we have time to create an alibi.”

***

The sophomore party was classy and crowded. Everyone there was looked to be on the sports teams of various types and clutching glasses of red wine with their bulking biceps. He heard Eugene scoff at them all next to him, unimpressed with their polo shirts and nice house. He started whispering furiously about fake glamor muscles to Vincent, who had to get elbow him to get him to shut up. He didn’t think their hosts, who were walking over to them, would appreciate it.

They were asking something about who Vincent and Eugene knew at the party; since they didn’t have anyone to vouch, Vincent half-listened to Eugene make up a story about a benched player on the croquet team.

Suddenly, a girl walking by tripped and spilled her wine all over one of the hosts, ruining his beige polo shirt. Vincent was laughing under his breath and Eugene tugged his hand to remind him to get a move on. Right. Mingle and make a cover story.

Only twenty minutes had gone by when Eugene suddenly pulled him into a corner of the kitchen. His eyes gleamed, excited. “It’s time. You ready?”

Vincent frowned. By his accounts, it was only midnight now. “Is it time yet?” He looked down to check his watch again, but was interrupted by Eugene

“No, time for the real cover story.” 

And suddenly there was a hand around Vincent’s neck, pulling him down, down until Eugene’s lips pressed against his, sloppy and tasting of red wine. 

Vincent’s whole body froze up, shocked. There was a whole room of people for Christ’s sake, what was Eugene thinking! And Vincent would pin this crowd as the ones most likely to start harassing at a couple of boys making out in the corner. To make matters worse, they were the only ones kissing, too. It wasn’t that kind of party; a wine night doesn’t really mesh with this kind of behavior more familiar to a trashy Friday night party. Vincent’s freaking out but just trying to cling on to Eugene, who isn’t letting up his grip one inch. 

Eugene deepened the kiss, mouth opening hot against Vincent’s, making him forget about the party. He kissed like he was trying to pull something out of Vincent, something deep down and untouched. Vincent gasped at the intensity, caught off guard. He hesitated, confused, wanting everything to slow down. Eugene, sensing Vincent’s pause, opened his eyes, locking with Vincent. Dark with desire, the way they look at Vincent took him by surprise. But they’re just school friends...

Eugene looked a little confused at the pause, but he just closed his eyes again and returned to Vincent’s mouth. He jerked his mouth harder onto Vincent’s, bruising, knee between Vincent’s thighs and grinding dirty. For his part, it’s all Vincent could do to keep up, returning every kiss and trying not to lose himself in it. Vincent hadn’t known he wanted it until he had it, and now he’s not sure if he will exist after this ends. 

Another gasp escaped from Vincent’s throat before he can stop it. Eugene pushed again, harder this time, but it didn’t feel good this time. Vincent realized a few seconds too late that he’s being pushed off, Eugene’s hands hard on his shoulders. Their lips separated with a pop. Vincent stumbled up and wiped his mouth, looking at Eugene who’s not looking at him but everyone else. They’ve attracted an audience, a collection of rugby players by the looks of them, who all looked half disgusted, half annoyed.

Vincent felt his neck warming up and getting itchy. He wanted to say something to make them all stop staring, but nothing comes out of his mouth when he opens it. Eugene, however, sneered, “Can I help anyone?” and casted a cool glance over the jocks. When no one responded he followed up with, “Sorry, am I in the way or something?”

Most of the guys just rolled their eyes and uncrossed their arms, turning away to resume their conversations. Eugene just watched them all go, unperturbed. He looked back at Vincent, eyes flicking over his whole body. Vincent felt self-conscious as Eugene merely said, “Let’s go,” and started wheeling for the door.

***

Outside, Vincent was wheeling steadily away from the hall back to Vincent’s. Vincent was a couple steps behind him, jogging to catch up.

“Eugene,” he called out. Eugene turned to face Vincent, face plain.

They looked at each other for several moments, not saying anything. Vincent couldn’t read Eugene’s face in the dark but had a feeling light wouldn’t help him much anyway. He wasn’t sure what to say. Eugene felt helplessly out of reach, wrapped up in his own thoughts and Vincent feels left behind, grasping to make sense of him, not for the first time. Eugene was ten steps ahead on the plan today, thoughts building on thoughts that he didn’t care to share.

Before he even tried to open his mouth and say something, Eugene hummed aimlessly and rolled himself back, making for Vincent’s dorm again. He knew Vincent would follow. And Vincent knew he would, too.

Eugene was already there when Vincent came in, still feeling caught off guard by the whole party scene.

“Eugene,” he started, then stopped. He slowly shut the door with a loud click. He tried to ask a question with his eyes, but Eugene’s face remained blank.

Vincent moved forward towards him. He tried not to think about what he was doing, he knew it was a bad idea, but he also had to know…

He leaned in and kissed Eugene again, eyes squeezed tight.

He was met with nothing. Eugene stayed lifeless beneath him. And then he was being pushed firmly, gently back, mouth leaving Eugene’s. Eugene met him with a cold gaze and Vincent felt the alcohol from earlier in the night churn in his stomach, making him feel sick.

He couldn’t look at Eugene’s face anymore so he went over to the open window and looked out. The campus looked dark except for the few lampposts along the main walkway lighting up dead winter trees and Vincent shivered from the cold. 

“It was just for an alibi,” he heard Eugene say behind him. He didn’t turn; he couldn’t stand to see his face. It was pathetic, he should have known, so stupid. His neck flushed red and he just hoped Eugene couldn’t see.

“A memorable alibi, Vince,” Eugene said again. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” Vincent cut him off, turning around and resisting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut to Eugene’s pitying expression. “You were completely right. I…misinterpreted. Won’t happen again.”

Eugene just looked angry. For a second, Vincent thought he was going to yell at him but then Eugene turned away, shoving his wheels angrily to get himself to the door. It was reasonable, Vincent concluded. Eugene didn’t want to be around him anymore tonight, or ever. There was no one to blame for that but himself.

But Eugene paused. Vincent held his breath, ready for whatever he would say right before he wheeled out and left Vincent in the mess he had made. He stared and stared at the back of Eugene’s head, just trying to make it through the awful moment.

So Vincent was caught by surprise when Eugene, fiddling with the flashlights and checking his watch, said, “It’s time to go.”

“What?”

“We have to move now, or the wardens will catch us in the corridors.” He didn’t look at Vincent.

“We…” Vincent was sure he was mishearing.

“Yes, us,” Eugene turned his chair around, tone growing impatient. “The plan’s still on, we’ve still got classrooms to vandalize.”

“You’re not…” But Vincent trailed off when Eugene looked at him hard. No questions then. They were just going to move forward and pretend they hadn’t kissed each other, that it hadn’t gotten out of control, that Vincent hadn’t wanted more.

“Yeah, okay,” Vincent hurried to agree. “Let’s move.”

Eugene flashed him a smile and Vincent tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest, knowing it was no good.

***

Darkness covered campus like a shroud, the lampposts casting gaunt shadows on the buildings that made up the main quad. Vincent and Eugene were hiding in a shadow between Redford and the adjacent hall, waiting for the right moment to book it to Haverford Hall.

This is normal, Vincent thought, trying to ignore the beating of his own heart and the shivering of his own stomach. I can do this. Normal trouble with Eugene would smooth over the awkwardness that had settled in him, and everything would go back to how it was. Eugene, luckily, was willing to give Vincent a second chance; after all, they were boys in boarding school; they made mistakes.

“Vincent,” Eugene said quietly, chuckling under his breath and making Vincent start. “You’re breathing really loudly.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He tried to shut himself up for the next three minutes, letting Eugene work out when to run himself. After a few cold minutes, Eugene pointed across the quad.

“There,” he said. “Warden. Hopefully the last one for twenty minutes.” He turned in his chair and looked up at Vincent who suddenly felt the urge to hide his face, despite the low light. “You ready?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to, Vince,” Eugene’s brow furrowed. “It’s just a prank.”

But the butterflies that started up again as Eugene said his nickname, and Vincent knew that he did.

“No, I want to. Fuck the admin board, right?” His voice sounded too loud to his own ears when cursed.

Eugene just smiled. “Fuck the board.”

His tone was soft, too soft for such a violent statement, and Vincent felt his face turning warm at his eye contact.

The warden finally left out of sight and Eugene fixed his attention back to the quad. “Alright, let’s move it, Vincent. Time to shock the shit out of some professors.”

Vincent plastered a grin onto his face even though it was dark and pushed Eugene forward and they were off.

Exposed, vulnerable, determined, they were gunning it across the main intersection of campus. Anyone looking out of their dorm before closing the blinds, any professor working late in their office would be a risk of a tattletale, but that’s where the exhilaration kicked in. Eugene’s wheels clattered over the stone walkways, striking up a racket that anyone out for a late night stroll would definitely hear. It seemed like the longest eternity crossing the quad, days, months, years passing in the journey from one building’s doorstep to another, consistently punctuated by the sounds of the chair and Eugene’s quiet laughter. They were rushing, but there was also the odd sense of calm that settled in in the dangerous moments, the time spent in the suspended moment of pushing the chair and running as fast as he could. He couldn’t lie; he enjoyed this. Rocketing over the stone path, Vincent let himself hum under his breath a couple times. Eugene gave out a huge whoop from the chair, breaking the hush of the night air, and the fear that shot through Vincent’s veins turned straight to adrenaline.

Finally it ended; they huddled against the doorway of Haverford, taking refuge from the wind, breathing hard from the sheer pleasure. Vincent felt Eugene’s gaze on him but didn’t dare look, afraid of the exhilarated look on his face, afraid of what might be lying under the surface. He laughed in spite of himself, enjoying the moment. This, he decided, was life. And that thought felt so good, so right, that he let himself glance over at Eugene, whose chest was rising and falling beside him.

He felt suddenly guilty and stopped laughing, hurrying to fish the key out of his pocket and jamming it in the lock, released them inside. He pulled Eugene in after him and closed the door, closing them into safety.

Avoiding Eugene and his gaze, he started walking down the dark hallway, peering into classrooms, double-checking that no one was there, even though the odds were slim. Eugene wheeled after him, waiting for him to check the entire hallway, patiently.

“Hey Vince,” his voice sounded thin and quiet in the dark. “You okay?”

Vincent nearly laughed. He felt strange, like he was somehow detached from his body, like his real self would never act like this: kiss his friend, get adrenaline high, and vandalize a school building, which was what he was working up to do now. If a real person could be out of character, then he was. He almost wished he could walk away right then, just go back to his room and lie there for the rest of the night until the sun rose and he could go back to his normal routine, like breaking a spell.

But he didn’t want to, really, and he was kind of out of his mind. The alcohol was going to his head and making him want to move more, do a drunken dance along the halls of Haverford with Eugene following along behind. He had regretted the last couple cocktails, but that was fading fast; that was an hour ago and Vincent was feeling a lot freer now. He wanted to have a good time tonight, he didn’t want to think about kissing Eugene anymore or be sick and miserable over it--he just wanted to smash up some classrooms.

With this in mind, he whirled on Eugene, who brought his wheelchair up short behind him.

“Let’s get to it. It’s time,” he said. Not losing any time, he yanked open the nearest door and went into the classroom. Eugene followed behind him, letting him lead. 

This was going to be Vincent’s night; he was going to forget about everything and live in the moment, like Eugene always said. For once, he wasn’t going to be nagging about consequences or scared like a pansy—he’s just gonna have fun. Eugene could worry for once, if he cared to.

With that, he seized up the closest thing in the room to him—a crucifix on the wall—and, feeling wild and strangely untethered, held it aloft, ready to smash it down on the floor. As he held it up, he looked Eugene, who didn’t look excited. But this was the main event, this is what they had spent all night preparing for, why wasn’t he brilliant with excitement like usual? Instead, Eugene looked wary, like he was resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Vincent felt a flicker of annoyance and frowned. This wasn’t the time to sit with a wrinkled expression in deep thought, but to wreak havoc on these classrooms.

Eugene was staring at him now, something cautious in his expression and Vincent didn’t like it so he brought down his hand and smashed the cross against the floor, pieces splintering and skittering in every direction.

Vincent felt something heavy in his chest disintegrate with the broken cross, relieving a huge weight that had sat upon him. The jump of adrenaline was fantastic, and he knew that he could quickly become addicted to this, but he didn’t care--he wanted to smash up the entire school.

He seized one of the chairs behind the desks and kicked at its leg until the wood snapped with a satisfying crack. The other three legs went the same way, Vincent kicking until he was just holding up the fragments of a back and seat. Then he let that fly, too, crashing against the opposite wall.

“Vince…” Eugene’s voice behind him, sounding way too serious. Eugene is looking at him like he’s crazy, but Vincent can’t--and won’t--contain the look of exhilaration he’s sure is on his face.

“Come on, Gene, get into it, we’ve got a mission. The professors need a good shock every now and then and it’s our duty to give it to them!”

Eugene looks reluctant and Vincent’s really not sure why. This was his idea, after all, and given what they went through to get here, Vincent doesn’t want to deal with any cold feet. He wishes he could tell him to just get over it, whatever it is, but he bites his tongue and keeps coaxing him, trying to get him to enjoy the moment. In that moment, Vincent would give his right hand for them to just be back to normal—whipping up trouble with Eugene grinning and enthusiastic the whole way.

But now Eugene’s just blinking at Vincent like he never wanted to be here at all and Vincent feels his smile fade a little.

“What is it?”

Eugene frowns and looks away. “You know…”

Vincent swallowed and tried not to feel like he’d been slapped. 

“Eugene,” he started, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry about earlier. It was just a momentary thing, a mistake, and it won’t happen again, man.” The last word felt bitter on his tongue.

But it worked. Eugene looked reassured, expression clearing, albeit slowly. “Oh, okay.” He looked at Vincent and smiled, and Vincent forced himself to meet his gaze. 

So while Eugene sat there, grinning, attention returning to vandalism, Vincent felt something crumble slightly, in his chest. It wasn’t his heart; he wasn’t that melodramatic. But there was something terrible about getting so close to Eugene and then having it ripped away; it left him feeling bare and cold in the deserted classroom.

Eugene broke the silence, eyes sliding to the side at the remains of Vincent’s chair. “Let’s get to it then, man!” He grinned at Vincent with renewed vigor, quickly approaching the nearest desk and, using the flashlight as an aid, putting his fist through it. He continued punching it until it looked like the Vincent’s chair and then moved on to the next one, urging Vincent to join.

Vincent returned Eugene’s grin, slowly, hesitatingly, but for real this time and got to work on the desk at the front, the professor’s. It was harder than the students’ and didn’t want to give in, but between the two of them they worked until it was lying in splinters on the floor. Once they had made a considerable dent in the room, they moved onto next door, and the adjacent classroom after that, until every room off the hallway looked ransacked, chairs wrecked, desks obliterated, and crucifixes defaced. Those rooms, by one a.m., were unable to be taught in. Vincent felt a strange surge of pride mixed with guilt; the thought of what his parents would say threatened to creep into his head...

“We need one last touch,” Eugene said when they reentered the hallway, interrupting Vincent’s thoughts. He was leaving the last classroom in shambles behind them. “Something to hammer it home.”

Vincent met his gaze and grinned. They were thinking the same thing. Eugene’s eyes were twinkling and his smile cunning when he urged Vincent to “Quick, get it, from the bag,” directing him to the backpack hanging off the back of his wheelchair.

But Vincent was already unzipping it, riffling through unused flashlights and shirts to find the tool he needed for their pièce de résistance. He could hear it rattling…and yes, he gripped it and pulled it out. At the sight of it, both of them stifled excited laughs that would be risking the warden. 

They had spray paint. And the whole hallway to paint on: floor, ceiling, and walls.

The plan had already been made so they got to work, Eugene coating the floor and walls, Vincent the ceiling. For long minutes there was only the rattle and hiss of the spray cans and the boys’ breathing in the empty hallway. Once, the tapping of the warden’s footsteps came around the corner and they had to duck into a classroom, scrambling to hide their cans until the light of his flashlight bobbed out of sight. Luckily, he didn’t look too close.

It was another fifteen minutes of work after that; they had a lot of corridor to cover. Finally they were done, back at the hall’s entrance where they had come in. Together, they turned back around to look at what they had done.

Written across the ceiling in loopy cursive were the words “GOD DIED A VIRGIN.” Underneath, the floor was plastered with an accompanying drawing off Jesus on the cross, committing what the professors would call “lewd acts.” Everything was in bright colors, red, yellow, orange, so they got in your face and couldn’t been overlooked. Vincent ignored another surge of guilt that automatically came knowing he created this. It was a masterpiece, he knew, at least to the Welton boys--they would talk about this for next few days without stopping.

“Wait,” Eugene said, smiling. “It needs one more thing.” Rifling around in the bag on the back of his chair, he pulled out a can of green and wheeled to the feet of the Lord. He gave the can a shake, then started writing. When he pulled back, Vincent felt his breath catch. As if it wasn’t already over the top, expulsion-worthy, and completely irreverent. Now it was perfect.

Underneath the dying painting of Jesus, Eugene had written “Jesus Himself couldn’t get it up.”

He grinned at Vincent, capping the spray can. “Well, what do ya think?” Vincent couldn’t do anything but grin at Eugene and laugh. It was brilliant, but that was what Eugene always did; he took things from basic to brilliant. Even artful, Vincent would argue.

Then the sound of gravel came from behind them, outside on the path--quick footsteps approaching. They realized with a jolt that it was almost sunrise and some of the professors would be coming in early to prep for class.

“Oh shit,” Eugene said. He threw the spray cans from his lap into the bag and furiously started wheeling down the hallway. Vincent threw his cans to Eugene and caught the handles of his chair, hurrying them deeper into the building and barely getting around the corner before the wooden door creaked open. Holding their breath from the shadows, they heard the footsteps enter, pause, then turn and exit again, the professor spluttering in obvious shock.

They both exhaled in relief.

“He’s definitely off to get someone, let’s get out of here,” Eugene said and gave Vincent that daredevil smile again. He lived for the thrill of these close calls.

Vincent wheeled him back up the brightly decorated corridor, stopping at the door a moment to look back.

Eugene turned to see what he was doing, confused.

“I just wanted one more look,” Vincent replied, suddenly sentimental. “This is the last time we’ll see it. They’ll scrub it away tomorrow and it’ll be gone.”

Eugene reached up and touched Vincent’s shoulder. Vincent turned, surprised, and looked down at him. “We have the memory.”

Vincent looked at him for another moment, pushing the limits of how long he was allowed. Then he just said, “Yeah,” and “Let’s get going.”

They walked back to Redford Hall in silence. They only parted ways inside, Eugene’s room to the left and Vincent’s to the right.

“Just enough time to make our beds look slept in,” Eugene attempted a joke.

“Yeah,” Vincent cracked a tired smile. He was beginning to feel the exhaustion getting to him. “I’ll be seeing you, Gene.”

Eugene looked sad around the eyes, just for a moment, at the nickname. “See you, Vince.”

Vincent felt like he wanted to say something else, anything to change how this conversation was going to end. They had created something back there that—while considered vandalism by the school board—felt like art to Vincent, in a strange way. But now they were just going back to bed for a few hours before their alarms went off and they got up for class. And Vincent had a feeling he would be seeing less of Eugene for some reason. He tried to think of something to say to change that that wouldn’t sound dumb like an apology. But he couldn’t, so he let Eugene wheel down the hall and unlock his own room, then turned and went to his own, wishing for the distraction of a sleeping roommate so he could think of something else other than his own mistakes.

***

The next day, excitement jolts through the campus like an electric shock via whispers and smuggled photos. Although Vincent hadn’t told anyone it was him and Eugene didn’t seem like the type to brag, it seemed as if every boy on campus was giving him slaps on the back and calling out congratulations; he couldn’t even walk through the quad without people cheering for him away from teacher supervision. So he grinned his way from class to class, squashing the worry that the administration would find out. He knew, logically, nothing would happen--nothing had ever happened before.

By Wednesday, then, four days after the first professor had stumbled upon the mural in Haverford, Vincent’s popularity was at an all-time high, but it was still a surprise when someone shoved a paper in his hand and invited him to a Fernton party on Friday. He felt a little star-struck; Fernton was one of the senior dorms, notorious for its wild parties that even managed to sneak girls in. They were invitation-only, which would be ridiculous for a party, if this one wasn’t so highly coveted.

The high spirits on campus were still going strong by the end of the week despite Vincent’s prediction they would fade after a couple days and it seemed like everyone found the piece hilarious. Mostly Vincent thought they loved the crudeness of it and the fact that it was forbidden content, but he didn’t mind. He flushed every time someone around campus would yell congratulations at him.

He hadn’t seen Eugene anywhere the whole week. He was like a ghost, disappearing from campus after wheeling back to his room that night, not even passing Vincent in the halls between classes. Vincent heard his name everywhere, though, constant praises of his daring, admiration of his art, and worst of all, rumors of his attendance at the upcoming Fernton party.

Vincent’s unease about it grew as he heard more and more and the days ticked off until it was Thursday and he was pleading with a Fernton guy to let him off the hook.

“Please, man, I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to make it,” he said desperately, already having tried two other excuses. But the boy wouldn’t hear it, saying Vincent was the main event, was the party, and there wasn’t gonna be a party without him. While hearing that was slightly surreal—Vincent had never in his life been a coveted party guest—Vincent felt the last of his resolve drain away with it. He was stuck going.

But maybe, Vincent thought, Eugene wouldn’t be there. He hadn’t seen him all week, so he was clearly avoiding Vincent and maybe that would extend as far as to the party.

Still, donning his polo shirt and combing his hair Friday night, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread of the night to come--at least there would be beer.

By the time he left, he had already taken a couple of shots and was en route to several more. It was a long, brisk walk to Fernton and he wasn’t sloshed enough to feel warm yet, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and grimaced his way up the hill.

Fernton was the best dorm on campus and the prettiest; it was on top of a hill and had a great view of campus, with all its old brick and vine-covered building. Vincent was glad to see it, warm and inviting with its loud music, and hurried to the door. Several boys opened the door when he knocked, and he was received with loud enthusiasm and many hands dragging him in by his shirt. Everyone was smiling at him, faces excited by alcohol, and many hands shoved a beer at him. This wasn’t the classy tennis club mixer with its neat edges; these boys were here to get sloppy. Already he spotted a several couples liplocked in the corners.

As he was ushered further into the house, he took his first swig of beer and felt it settle warm on top of the liquor in his stomach. After that, things started to move pretty fast between drinks and other things being offered to him and the crush of people dancing around him to the beat of music. He kept looking around for Eugene, slouching in his chair disapprovingly from the corner, but he wasn’t there, or Vincent was too drunk to recognize him. He felt a little angry—angry that Eugene had let a mistaken kiss ruin their friendship and angry that he hadn’t even shown up tonight to even try pretend everything was okay. It was like he couldn’t even stand a couple hours of seeing Vincent.

It was an irritating thought, and Vincent tried to push it aside. He felt looser than he ever had dorm drinking with Eugene, better know that he could truly let go. It wasn’t long before he was beckoning to one of the boys leaning against the wall and pulling him into the mosh of dancers. He wasn’t a Fernton boy, nor Eugene. The boy was now offering him some kind of powder that Vincent was looking at cluelessly.

“I don’t,” Vincent said, gesturing to show he had no idea how to do it.

The boy offered him a flirtatious smile, lips curving up in a way that made Vincent’s stomach drop, then raised his finger to his nose and inhaled, powder disappearing. When the boy offered some to Vincent, he inhaled it off the boy’s finger without looking at his face. He knew what the boy wanted, probably more than he was willing to give tonight, but he felt strange now, like his feet weren’t on the floor anymore.

The group of people around him was dancing now, pulsing up and down. He couldn’t breathe from the heat, but he didn’t want to, he just wanted to dance along with them. Someone pushed another drink at him but he didn’t grip it firmly and the beer sloshed over his hand, warm and sticky, before crashing to the floor.

Vincent felt the edges of his vision browning out. He desperately wanted to hold onto something, to sit down, but the music kept pounding under his feet and the slow euphoria of the drugs was creeping in his veins. Distantly, he knew he was dancing, bobbing up and down with the crowd, but he felt apart from his body, removed. He was getting sloppy—his shirt was sticking to his chest with beer—and as he spun around he saw with a shock, Eugene, sitting in the next room over, staring at him with...disappointment? He squinted to make out his expression, but that threw off his balance and he stumbled, ground suddenly rising up to meet him. He flinched and then blacked out.

***

Vincent’s first conscious thought was that he must have been really high to hallucinate Eugene. He opened his eyes and was assaulted by a bright whiteness and closed them quickly. A soft beeping noise came from the right of him.

Oh God. He’s not in th—

He opened his eyes and took in the stark white walls, the IV in his finger and the hospital bed beneath him.

“Shit,” he said to no one.

“It’s not that bad,” a voice from beside him said. “They only called your parents.”

Vincent looked around and relaxed. “Eugene,” he breathed.

Eugene gives him a small smile. “So you’ve never tried coke before, huh?”

“Well,” Vincent starts.

“It doesn’t matter.” Eugene interrupts, tone suddenly harsh. If this was his bedside manner, Vincent thought, it needed work. “Your parents will be just as anxious over the seven drinks you slammed.” Vincent felt a curl of shame in his stomach, despite himself. He hadn’t meant to disappoint them--though he knew that was a ridiculous excuse now. 

“I’m sorry?” he tried, wondering why he was apologizing to Eugene instead of them.

“Whatever. You’re going to be okay,” Eugene returned gruffly. “The doctor wouldn’t tell me but I overheard him say you just need fluids and bedrest.”

Vincent smiled at that and forced himself to chuckle. “Pretty embarrassing to go this way at a Fernton party.”

“Hey, no, fuck those guys!” Eugene’s suddenly angry, his sharp tone making Vincent jump. “Embarrassing? You’re in the hospital, Vince, and they didn’t give one single shit about you last night and I...” he trailed off. He swung his chair around to face away, one hand yanking on his hair.

“Jesus, Gene, I didn’t know you felt like this.” Vincent was a little fed up with Eugene’s mothering, especially since he had been giving him the cold shoulder all last week.

“Vince, don’t you know…” Eugene was staring at him again. Something in his expression set off alarm bells in Vincent’s head. He didn’t remember too much about the party and he suddenly felt afraid.

“What,” he asked. When Eugene hesitated he pleaded, “What is it, Eugene, what happened. Tell me.”

“Nothing,” he said, staring at Vincent hard, like he couldn’t bear even the thought of what Vincent had done, it was so shameful. “Officially, anyway. Your parents, the Fernton boys will never—well except for the few that found you…”

Vincent felt his stomach drop with dread. He squeezed his eyes shut because he couldn’t bear Eugene’s face, too ominous. “Just tell me.”

“Okay.” Eugene took a breath. “I found you in a, a closet. You weren’t alone—there was a boy as well—and you both…you both had your pants down. You were slumped over him and…yeah.”

Shit. Vincent squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. Fuck. He felt Eugene’s eyes still on him, studying his reaction. His face felt hot and he wished Eugene would stop. Irrationally he felt like he had betrayed him in some way, as if hooking up with some guy at a party was an abuse of trust. Eugene’s face just before he went down at the party came traitorously to mind.

When he opened his eyes again, Eugene’s face was the opposite. His eyes were cold and expression distant.

“You found me?” Vincent seized desperately onto a topic.

Eugene looked at him, now schooling his face to impartiality. “Yes. And I got someone to carry you out and I rode with you to the hospital and told them what drugs you could and couldn’t take and I wish I hadn’t.”

He couldn’t pretend that hadn’t stung. “What?” But Eugene wouldn’t even face Vincent. 

“Hey,” he said, pulling back his bed covers and swinging his legs out. He unclipped the monitor from his finger and tossed it to the side. The beeping stopped abruptly.

Eugene spun around, confused face turning livid. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He jerked his arms forward on his wheels, crossing the room to shove him back in bed.

“Thank you,” he said, and it meant a lot more than that. It also meant thank you for taking care of me and for coming with me to the hospital, even if you’ve been distant lately. And that even if you don’t see us as friends anymore, because of one stupid moment, a kiss, I do. Vincent isn’t giving up on Eugene.

Eugene got quiet after that, which Vincent took to mean he received the message but wasn’t ready to say anything.

He hung around for a few more hours. Mostly, he didn’t do anything, since Vincent was under good care and just resting, so there wasn’t anything he could do short of speaking to him. He remained quiet and hovered by the opposite wall, reading and rereading the hospital’s pamphlets.

Vincent just sat miserably in his bed. He didn’t ask Eugene when his parents were returning.

Eventually, they did. They came in a burst of noise, shuffling in the room and offering a slew of excuses and apologies for not being there when he woke up. His mother fussed with his monitors and his father acted standoffish and asked him gruff questions about his health but he felt warm under their care. When he looked around for Eugene again, he was gone.

“Oh darling, I just can’t wait for you to come home!” His mother said in a too-happy tone.

Vincent frowned. “What?”

“You’re coming home,” his father interjected. “You’re changing schools, we can’t have any stain on your record from Welton. We’ll talk to them and get it sorted out, it’ll be fine.”

Vincent looked at his parent’s face, trying to quell his rising fear. “I’ll work harder and stay in, if that’s what you want. You don’t have to threaten me.”

His parents exchanged the look he knew they would and as soon as they did it, he knew he was doomed. They launched into a lecture on how serious they were and how a transition, a change of scenery would rejuvenate him. ‘Rejuvenate,’ as if he were an old man who needed a good trip to the spa. He felt exhausted, almost enough to give in. He didn’t know if he had anything to hold him here anymore. Why not change schools? 

***

Only a couple hours after his parents had announced their plan for him, Vincent was discharged the two of them smiling the whole time while they filled out the paperwork. It unnerved him how cheery they were given they had driven several hours to find their son in a hospital bed and he was convinced it was fake. Realizing this only made him dread leaving more, as his parents would probably be comfortable unleashing their true feelings away from public eyes. They were like two volcanos ready to explode and Vincent was going to get caught in the crossfire.

After his many protestations, they left him alone in his dorm to pack up his things. The room felt wrong somehow, with its unmade bed and strewn possessions, looking the same as last week, even though so much had happened since then. Vincent thought of Eugene and felt a swarm of guilt rise up in his chest.

Eugene had acted so strangely at the hospital. First, he had cared enough to check Vincent in, but then acted cold to him the whole time he had actually been awake. But Vincent had never understood what Eugene was thinking and he had given up long ago.

Part of him wanted to dismiss him completely, write him off as a piece of shit friend who got scared away by one kiss. A fragile guy who decided to be an asshole. But that’s not genuine, and Vincent felt uncomfortable holding that thought in his head about Eugene and pushed it away. He had to pack.

He worked slowly through the room, collecting books and clothes and shoving them in several suitcases, trying not to feel sorry for himself. His parents were milling around somewhere outside, tapping their feet, he assumed, but he still went slow, savoring every last lonely minute at Welton. 

Vincent was yanking out the last of his clothes when he stumbled across a couple old beer bottles he’d forgotten about. Eugene had given them to him, of course, for his birthday, smirking and saying he should “really loosen his belt every once in a while.” At the time, Vincent spluttered and claimed he did have fun, all the time, but now he just held the bottles in his hand and tried to smile at the memory. It hurt somewhere inside him, but he tried not to think about it and shoved down his self-pity. The still-sealed beer went in the wastebasket.

Half an hour later found him mostly packed up. His parents were carting out bags and he was grabbing his last few items when he heard a creak behind him. Before he turned around, he knew it wasn’t his parents.

“So you’re that guy, huh?” Sure enough, Eugene’s parked in the doorway. He looked like he doesn’t know why he’s come, which made two of them.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Vincent turned away so Eugene couldn’t see his face heating up. To be pulled out by his parents for misbehavior—he was officially the pansy he always acted like.

Eugene looked upset, like maybe he was going to argue with that. But he let it go and instead said, “I can’t make them stop, you know. Your parents. I tried.”

What? Vincent’s weak, sure, but he definitely didn’t need someone, especially Eugene, convincing his parents on his behalf. He didn’t stop the urge to lash out at Eugene, tone nasty. “Who asked you to?”

Eugene, for his part, recoiled, having the grace to look a little ashamed of himself. Vincent felt a rush of sadistic pleasure. “Maybe I want to go.”

“You don’t.” Eugene was so confident he’s right, as he always is. 

“Well, you don’t want me to stay.” It was a question, they both knew it, and Vincent could barely keep the hope from his eyes. With every interaction with Eugene he had to be guarded, to watch his words, tone, body language. If he let him know he cared and Eugene didn’t care back, it would be a risk--and Vincent isn’t a risk taker.

He got a reaction out of Eugene, though, a flicker of emotions so quick that Vincent couldn’t know if he loved or hated Vincent in that moment. A flick of Eugene’s wrist sent his chair spinning around to face away. “At the party,” he finally struggled out. His hands were white-knuckled on his wheels. “That was—really dumb, hooking up with someone isn’t like you—”

Really? This was what he was hung up on? In five minutes, Vincent was going to put Welton Academy in his rearview mirror and probably never see Eugene again, and all he did was accuse Vincent of being a slut? Well, that’s rich.

Vincent told him as much, in heated language, and Eugene’s face exploded. “Rich? You want to see rich, Vincent? How about going AWOL for week and the next time I see you you’re crumpled over some guy at a party?” If looks could kill, Vincent would be dead.

“It was my own right to do whatever I wanted that night,” Vincent hissed, grabbing a cardigan off his bed. “And it’s not like you’re some paragon of behavior, party boy.” It was a weak retort, but for some reason it stopped Eugene up short. He blinked several times, like he was trying to understand Vincent.

Vincent called it a hit, and kept going. “Every Friday night, I’m leaving on my own to go back to my lonely dorm room, because you’re off with someone else. But I didn’t ever complain about it!” He was verging on shouting, his cardigan clutched tight in his hand. “Because what reason would I have. What reason, Gene.”

“So yeah, forgive me if I, for one night, decide to let go,” he was loud enough now that his shouts echoed down the corridor outside the room. For a fleeting moment he worried about other people hearing, but then remembered he’s leaving. “One night, with one person, Eugene!”

He stopped, breathing hard. A twinge of regret tried to tell him he shouldn’t have shouted but he was just so confused. Why was Eugene acting like this? When he didn’t make sense before all this, it was in a way that made sense. Eugene was a mess, but in a way that Vincent understood. This out-of-left-field behavior? The silent treatment, being upset over a guy, and showing up at the hospital? And showing up now, here? Vincent couldn’t reconcile any of these things together.

A long silence stretched out between them. Eugene looked at the floor and Vincent looked from his face to anywhere else, passing a hand over his face in frustration.

“What gives, Gene,” his tone was gentle now. His words hung in the air. Just say something, Eugene.

“I think…” Eugene started, and Vincent couldn’t breathe from fear of what he might say. “I think I care too much about you. Vincent,” and he broke off. Vincent brought his gaze up to meet Eugene’s and his expression was intense, focused hard on Vincent, and there’s something in his eyes that’s hard to look at. Vincent looked away, trying to hold back every emotion threatening to spill out.

Finally he choked out, “What is that supposed to mean?” He wasn’t angry anymore, but his shoulders were hunched. He was bracing against whatever Eugene said next, a joke, something to play it off.

Eugene laughed, a couple short huffs. Vincent’s eyes clenched shut and he waited. “You already know,” Eugene said, “It means I love you. I think I’m in love with you.”

Eugene was still staring at Vincent like he was hanging on by a thread. That’s when Vincent realized he felt the same way all along, but it was like pulling teeth for them to say it since they were both such cowards.

“You…love me?” He might cry out of relief. They were idiots, he thought.

Eugene’s face said everything, breaking his tense expression and smoothing out his creases to smile tentative smile at Vincent.

Crossing the room in a single stride, Vincent leaned in and pressed his mouth to Eugene’s. They kissed gently, innocently, trying to heal their mistakes without words. Somewhere in the middle, as Vincent gasped for breath, he mentioned that he loved Eugene too; and later that day, he didn’t leave in his parents’ car, but stayed right on campus where he could antagonize everyone with the only boy who made him really live.

**Author's Note:**

> "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived."  
> \- Neil Perry, Dead Poet's Society
> 
> "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."  
> \- Henry David Thoreau, Walden


End file.
